Page 12 of Midsummer Phoenixes
“This is what’s wrong with all that kale and all that tea and that fucking onion juice,” Atkins commented. “None of it contains chocolate chips.”
I hid my chuckle by turning around in order to grab the fresh pot of coffee to make another round of refills. I never made it to the coffee machine, because Elias got my attention in a dramatic full-body wave.
“I’ll have to go now,” the vampire said.
“Birthday party?”
He rolled his green eyes, but made the movement big so that it involved his head and shoulders. “It’s all your fault for saying that thing about the sprinkles. Obviously, I will be celebrating in an appropriate fashion, and you will be invited.” He motioned at the diner. “This went well. People will enjoy coming here. You are simply too nice to just about everyone, it’s bordering on being irritating.”
I groaned. “That’s my job. Which I enjoy.”
“You’re like Cinderella. Not the real one, but the sweet, sanitized version from the cartoon.” He stood. “Text me about juice. You absolutely neglected me tonight, and we must catch up.”
“I didn’t neglect you, but I’ll still hang out with you,” I told the vampire. The fruit juice vampire. There was probably a joke in there somewhere.
“Pfft. Thank you for the cherry syrup. With any luck, that will get me in trouble.”
He left too much money on the counter, but shook his head when I opened my mouth to tell him so.
Coffee pot finally in hand, I stopped in front of Lynn and Duncan, refilled both their cups.
“Amory, I need your opinion. Or deciding vote,” Lynn said, so I stopped.
“What are we voting for?”
“Bad taste in kitchen décor,” Duncan said.
Lynn snorted and turned her phone around to me. “We have rustic.” She had a couple of images, almost a mood board, all warm wood with the grain still visible, with cream painted cabinets and dishes with blue polka dots. “Timeless.” The next kitchen mood board was all straight lines and shades of taupe, lighting hidden underneath the hanging cabinets, and a fancy induction hub. “Last, badass.” I couldn’t say how I knew, but the all-black kitchen with the neon sign mounted above a floating shelf, with lush green plants adding color, I knew that was the one she was going for.
“Right, the last one,” I said.
Lynn dropped her phone on the counter with an I-told-you-so gesture directed at Duncan.
“No, no, no. Tell her which oneyouwould want to cook in,” Duncan said.
Soyer’s blue kitchen with the huge fridge and the fancy appliances I have no idea how to operate,I thought and felt myself smile.
“Well…”
Lynn’s face fell. “Huh?”
I shrugged. “I’d like a blue kitchen. With good daylight.”
Lynn’s face fell, and she scrunched up her nose. “You two know nothing.”
“Says the person who accused me of kitchen envy,” Duncan said.
“Says the man who misses every social occurrence and therefore cannot be expected to keep up with trends in kitchen design,” Lynn said. She looked at me. “And you have spent too much time in this haven of blues and delicious food. Now you’re just conflating the two.”
“I don’t think I can argue that,” I said and left them to it.
Over the next half hour, the wave of people who had come in at the start of my shift began leaving. I could practically tell which of them were pawns by the way they tipped, by how polite they were.
With that lull in patrons, I told Rae I’d be in the back for a short break.
In the storage room, still freshly stocked though not as cramped as it had been before the fire, I pulled out my phone and started texting.
Amory
